


Ab Epistulis

by CescaLR



Series: The Joys of Networking. [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Deception, Eventual Romance, F/F, False Identity, Gen, I promise, Identity Reveal, M/M, McCall Pack, Online Friendship, Post-Season/Series 02, Post-Season/Series 02 AU, Slow Burn, Social Media, Swearing, The Hale Pack - Freeform, Work In Progress, annoyingly this is starting to look a little, but hopefully that'll rectify soon, shit happens ig, this veered wildly from my original plans: annoying but expected
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-11
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:01:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27805009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CescaLR/pseuds/CescaLR
Summary: If only summer vacation were like in the movies.At least Stiles has the internet to entertain him, right?
Relationships: Lydia Martin/Scott McCall, Malia Tate/Kira Yukimura, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Stiles Stilinski & Malia Tate, Stiles Stilinski & The McCall Pack, Stiles Stilinski/Theo Raeken, Theo Raeken & Malia Tate
Series: The Joys of Networking. [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/720438
Comments: 4
Kudos: 14





	1. Summer.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mostly-vo1d (tumblr)](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=mostly-vo1d+%28tumblr%29).



> bear with me on this one, thanks :) I'm trying things out here that might not work idk 
> 
> also yes, I am on a Latin phrases as titles kick lately, blame my education, I took it for GCSE and I want to have gained /some/ use out of the language, y'know?

The situation was simple. 

> Scott: Hey, you know what I just realized? I'm right back where I started.
> 
> Stiles: What do you mean?
> 
> Scott: I mean no lacrosse, no popularity, no girlfriend. Nothing.
> 
> Stiles: Dude, you still got me.
> 
> Scott: I had you before.
> 
> Stiles: Yeah, and you still got me. Okay? It's a life fulfilled.
> 
> Scott: Very.
> 
> Stiles: Now remember, no wolf powers.
> 
> Scott: Got it.
> 
> Stiles: No, I mean it. No super fast reflexes, no super eyesight, no hearing - none of that crap, okay?
> 
> Scott: Okay. Come on.
> 
> Stiles: You promise?
> 
> Scott: Would you just take the shot already?
> 
> Stiles: I said no wolf powers!

And after that, Stiles barely saw Scott for the rest of the summer. 

* * *

It wasn't either of their faults, really. 

With only a month or so from April 9th (that day, with the above conversation) and May 20th (or somewhere around there, anyway), it was... well. You know how it goes, right? So, Scott knuckled down. Also took some more hours at Deaton's, since there was no on-call-deadly-wolf-business he'd need to be... on call for, and everything. And Scott spent more time practicing lacrosse with the team members who _weren't_ relegated to the bench, and he spent a lot of time decidedly Not Thinking About Argents (More Specifically Their Prodigal Daughters) so... well. Stiles - kind of looks like Allison? Scott said it once (Stiles was drunk, and Scott was feeling very down, and Stiles is 100% certain Scott would not have said anything if Stiles had been sober), and it's just - it's not a can of worms Stiles is going to open any time soon, alright, he's got enough shit to deal with. And Stiles, maybe, admittedly, likes to talk about the things he knows about. Like the supernatural. You know. Because it exists, and yeah, it's nearly killed them a whole bunch, but it's still fucking _cool,_ right? Right. Terrifying. But cool. And Scott doesn't like talking about it just as much as he doesn't like talking about the gloomy raincloud lingering over his head in the form of Allison Argent and the whole situation with Genocidal Asshole Argent and... everything else. 

And you know what? It's fine. It is! It's not like Stiles tells Scott _literally everything ever_ either. In fact, there's a _lot_ of stuff Scott doesn't know and hopefully never will know about Stiles, and the parts of Stiles' life he has not been privy to first hand. So. It is more than fine, because otherwise? Hypocrisy. 

And, besides. Stiles doesn't want to go all... broody-angry-lurking-behind-curtains and shit like Derek, so, he's just no thinking about that. He's thinking right now, about other things. Like the things _he's_ been busy doing. Like, Heather. His old childhood friend. She's cool enough to not ask any weird invasive questions, and he gets to hang out at the parties she throws which happen to coincide with days that Scott is busy. And Stiles is picking back up skateboarding, using the old public pool on the edge of the industrial centre that got a community-funded-revamp about a decade or so back, and by 'community-funded-revamp' Stiles of course means people brought in a load of junk to build ramps and shit and drained the old slodgy pool from the rainwater and gross...ness... that had leaked in through the holes in the roofing. And that was fine. So long as Stiles avoided talking to anyone, and frankly if he plugged in his earphones and used his MP3 player, then, well, nobody bothered him, and that was fine by Stiles. And it wasn't to say he _didn't_ spend time with Scott, no, no. He did. Just. Not much. At all. Really. 

Yeah. But it was fine, right? Stiles has read up on shit like co-dependency, and it's not good for you. People. Have boundaries. Distance. _Space._ Time where you _don't_ hang out. And Stiles knows this, because he's not totally socially incompetent. In fact, he's had more friends in total than Scott has. Technically. Well. Not anymore. Stiles is pretty sure Danny and Boyd always liked Scott more. And Allison. And Lydia. Harley didn't, Stiles was... sort of sure, but then, he hadn't spoken to her in _months,_ at this point. Too dangerous at the time, and, frankly, they were only same-circles kind of friends. You know? 

So. Yeah. 

Yeah. 

Uh, there's - Stiles has been... well, he found the old drum kit. Those awards on his shelves are gathering dust for a reason, and he figured, well, Dad's always out of the house, so no-one to bother, and it's a good time sink. Stiles always finds he runs out of things to _do_ very quickly during the last month-or-so of school and _especially_ during Summer. And, Stiles has been... updating. Things. Uh, his own personal bestiary, less on the how-to-murder side of things, more... how to... How To. What. Why. Where. When. How. 

Who.

It's. Just a project. Stiles gets - a little bored without them. Yeah, sure. Dragging Scott off to see half a dead woman was in _part_ because Scott kept bitching about how boring Beacon Hills was, but... well. Maybe a little self-serving too. 

It's June. Start of June. June 3rd. Now. Not much else is different today, Stiles notes. But it... it _feels_ different, today. Like the Sun's a different kind of warm, the sky's a different shade of blue. The air's got a...

It's got a _something._

* * *

Stiles goes to the library, 9:00am, on June 3rd. Like he said, it's a sunny, warm, blue-skies-no-clouds kind of day, so he breaks out his baseball cap and a short-sleeved flannel shirt today. He skates there because, after all, he's trying to re-learn a lost skill.

(It's a bit hard to keep up with skateboarding when your best friend is a) asthmatic and b) uninterested and c) your only friend left and the only person that puts up with you elsewise because you keep breaking people's noses for _saying the wrong shit_ because Stiles, at 11, 12, 13-or-so, just generally, really, was a somewhat angry-from-grief and - well, yeah, not putting the other stuff into words - kinda kid - and honestly, a somewhat-angry kinda person. Just. Generally.)

But... you know. 

Stiles arrives, about fifteen or so minutes later, 'cause he took the long route there. Just for the - scenery. Not to avoid Scott's house, which is in the direct path straight there. Nope. Stiles just - Stiles doesn't like confrontation overmuch. Oh, sure. He's alright at it, if you count getting unreasonably angry at the other person (or reasonably angry at the other person) as being 'alright'. Yelling is the _least_ of Stiles' issues. Plus, Stiles is... still a little jumpy. And he might take the longer route because he has to slide on past the police station, and he knows it better, and he can make sure nobody's following him on a longer journey. Fucking hypervigilance.

Stiles walks inside. It's - just a library. Public library, opened over a hundred years ago, or so they say. Changed hands from family to family to family to county... god knows how many times. Stiles didn't bother to do any more research on _that_ than reading the plaque. Still. It has computers, internet, large (enough, kind of on the small side really) shelves of endless (once again, really kind of limited) books on all (not even close to all, more like some, a _few)_ topics that Stiles could ever (possibly, maybe, potentially, sometimes, rarely) need. It was great. The library was where he found that very first book on werewolves or whatever the fuck it was again back when Scotty first got bit. Anyway. The carpets are old, 80s by the looks of the pattern. Walls are beige, but that's from cigarette smoke before they put up the outdoor smoking area and all the signs, and they never bothered to repaint it all white. Or. Plaster, and then paint. That. That would be a better idea. 

Stiles logs onto the computer closest to the mythology shit. Takes out the Station laptop his dad tends to forget Stiles has (and Stiles always got a hold of another one when he needed one once the Sheriff did) so. He gets to work. A few hours pass, sun goes lower in the sky, around 4? 5? Maybe. In the afternoon. Stiles had thankfully not been totally stupid, and he brought drinks. Which he proceeded to drink. 

Where the fuck was Scott? 

Stiles checked his phone. No messages. Got one yesterday. Five the day before. One the day before that. Two before that. Three before. None. The highest... the highest was nine. And he'd got those nine on a day that followed no contact for a week, so. 

Stiles has been doing some digging. Not much. Just - a little. Supernatural creatures exist, right? Like, they do. It's a fact. So it's not super hard to figure out there's gotta be some shit online for that. Groups. Maybe a couple people on livejournal, or facebook groups, or tumblr accounts or what have you. Some shit, somewhere. 

Because it makes sense, right? For rumours to spread, for news to be shared, et cetera. There's gotta be some form of... community. Right? Somewhere. So Stiles has been digging. Just a little. To try and find something. 

And he thinks he has. Maybe. Not exactly a _community._ Just, people. Some of them are probably fakes, or at least they believe but they have no experience and they think werewolves are like _Twilight_ or whatever the fuck, maybe they think it's like _Buffy_ , who knows, point is, they don't - they don't know real shit. Just the fantasy media they consume. Or the horror aficionados, who think it's more akin to _The Wolf Man,_ maybe, but still, all untrue. Anyway, besides all that, Stiles has... to dig, he's had to have a presence himself. So he's made a few accounts, or updated accounts he never uses or abandoned for one reason or another. 

Stiles logs onto his tumblr. Well, alright, he has a few of those, so he logs onto the one where he goes by _Stiles,_ isn't just faking everything to keep those accounts from being burned and to keep himself a little safer. This Tumblr is just... actually his. Like. Generally. He doesn't use it much, honestly, reblogs the occasional interesting post and doesn't log on very often, but it's a way to distract, spend the time. He's got a couple mutuals, you know, like most people do, where you reblog posts from each other and never talk, maybe you'll tag each other in those tag game things that come up occasionally if you're _really_ bored. 

But anyway, the point is, Stiles logs on. Because, alas, it was not with his alt accounts that he found something. Or, rather, he _thinks_ he found something. Because some guy followed him recently, so it rather feels like, unfortunately, what Stiles is looking for found _him,_ instead of the other way around. It's not like Stiles has ever been quiet about what he thinks, either online or in real life, so he's not exactly hidden the fact he believes in the supernatural. But maybe he gave the game away, gave something a little close to too-real away, or maybe he's just paranoid. Probably. Morell said so, right? Roundabout. 

Anyway, the guy... well, one weird thing is his bio includes his full name, which frankly very few people, usually stupid ones, do. And otherwise, it doesn't include much else. His blog is... it's weird, but Stiles can only describe it as _perfunctory._ He reblogs things that stereotypically you'd think a guy their age would like. He tags things generically, generally. He makes the occasional vaguely personal post that doesn't say anything at all, like his parents are being dicks, or his friend was doing something stupid, or he hates wearing glasses, or what have you. Just little tidbits, drip-fed, a life in minute details. A bit like how Stiles built his alts. So it's a little weird, but, maybe Stiles is just... whatever. It's probably nothing. It just seems kind of like a facade, but that also would probably get Stiles a _look,_ from his dad or from Scott or _whoever,_ and he'd know they'd be thinking, he'd _just know_ they'd be thinking something along the lines of _don't be paranoid,_ _stop thinking like that, not everyone is out to get you, you know,_ and Stiles isn't _stupid,_ he doesn't - but whatever. 

Anyway, "Oz" (David John Oswald; _someone's_ family is religious, and historically so to boot) kind of just, reblogged a few posts Stiles had reblogged, and for some bizarre reason deviated from his M.O. and decided to actually respond to Stiles' tags in his own. And then a couple of days later he'd reblogged one of Stiles' sleep-deprived-research-binge-birthed posts, wherein Stiles had complained about the lack of real shit in the library, and he'd, wonder of all wonders, _sympathised,_ which means - potentially - that not only does he believe, but he _knows._ It's not just another person with pure faith in a TV show - it's someone who might actually, you know, have experience with this shit. Granted, someone Stiles' age, but it's not like Stiles is going to scoff at that. Age doesn't indicate experience or intelligence or knowledge, not just by itself. 

Anyway. The point is - Stiles has been talking to him. Sometimes. It's just kind of a thing - Stiles has been... sort of coasting along, after what's all gone down. And what went down was - it was so much bullshit so quickly that frankly Stiles still hasn't even processed the night they got trapped in the school, let alone everything else. So he's working through it, slowly, while re-learning the drums and skateboarding and researching and talking to this random guy on tumblr (not particularly smart, but Stiles did look him up and David John Oswald does actually exist, well, at least twelve of them exist, which is... quite a few, but Stiles is sort of certain which one this is) and a few other random people with his alt accounts fishing for information and searching through other social media and other shit like fucking _Proboards_ and all that junk just for a few scraps of an _idea_ of there _possibly_ being a kind of... network. Of sorts. 

So yeah. Stiles opens his tumblr, and he checks his messages. He's got one from Oz. 

_How you holding up?_

Simple. Stiles might have been mildly drunk after Heather's house party the other day, and he might have vented in a blog post he quickly, _quickly_ deleted, but this guy doesn't seem to do much other than hang around on Tumblr, so of course he read it. Stiles can never catch any breaks. 

_I'm fine,_ Stiles types, then sends, then shrugs, and types _relatively,_ and sends that, too. It's easier to talk to people through a screen, he thinks. Words don't feel the same as furrowed eyebrows and big, puppy-dog stares. 

_At least there's that,_ Oz types back. Stiles shrugs to himself, and returns to his research. 

* * *

About halfway through the summer, Stiles finds he's messaged Oz more than he's talked to Scott, in person or otherwise. Even their regularly scheduled video calls have gone un-called for a couple weeks, at this point. Fuck, Stiles has had more conversations with _Lydia Martin,_ and all she does is glare condescendingly at him with pursed lips until he leaves her alone. She's not taking Jackson leaving very well. Frankly, Stiles is glad to see his wolfly ass leave the country. 

It's just weird. Maybe it's a part of 'growing up', or some of that bullshit Stiles has never understood. Stiles' dad doesn't have - well, any of his high school friends left, Stiles knows that much, and it's just - if you've already got a hold on the best people in your life, why don't you keep that grip held tight? Why just... let it all drift away? And maybe that's dramatic. Maybe they just need a little distance, for now, a little normality. Stiles kind of wishes Morell was an actual therapist. It'd be nice to have one that wouldn't call him crazy if he brought up the events of the last few months. Eichen House is not a place Stiles particularly wants to visit. And she did a decent enough job, when they were assigned talks with the guidance counsellor. Stiles hasn't had a therapist in a long time - and not necessarily because he hasn't needed one, but because they're kind of _expensive._ Once he got his prescriptions all sorted out, there hadn't been much more they could justify. 

So yeah. It kind of sucked, at least a bit. But whatever.

 _You help people, you do._ Stiles types. _If you have the chance, then you take it. But you gotta be realistic about it, one person can't save the entire fucking world. Make a team, delegate. Hell, that probably wouldn't even save a continent. But it'd be something, and that's what matters, right?_

_If that's how you look at it._

_Well, if you want a selfish motivation,_ Stiles responds, _then people like you more if you're nicer. If you help people, people trust you, and that's useful. Saving the world would brand you and your people as heroes, and you as the leader would inevitably get the most credit. It's a win-win. Plus, the planet you're living on doesn't turn into a hellzone or blow up into little cosmic pieces, so. Win-win-win._

_lol. Yeah, that makes sense._

Stiles rolls his shoulders. _Why ask about that, anyway?_

_Hypothetical._

_Fair._

_How are the drums going?_

_Well, I can play a couple of my favourite songs now, so. Not bad. Hey, uh, you know how the supernatural exists, right_

There's a pause. Then:

_Yeah._

_Right, so, don't think I'm completely insane, but I really don't think Vampires exist. So, where do they come from? What are they based on??_

_Lots of different creatures drink blood. It's probably just a centuries-spanning culmination of various bits of those things being added up together to make what we call Vampires._

Stiles taps his fingers on the side of the keyboard, thinking, then:

_It's just weird to me how nobody knows this shit. What does and doesn't exist. The fact that most people are totally ignorant._

_People are wilfully blind. Ignorance is bliss, right?_

_Not even a little bit, dude._

_lol. Gotta go._

And then he is gone. Oz is... abrupt like that. Stiles has learned more bits and pieces, but it's still like trying to see through those 80s (or whatever) shutter glasses. Most of your vision is blocked, and you can't see shit. 

* * *

_You know I'll listen if you've got something to say, right?_

_I don't actually know you, so, no. No I don't._

_But doesn't that help? At least a little. As in, you don't know me. You don't care what I think about you. There's no strings attached, no preconceived notions to potentially disappoint. I'm like a unbiased third-party sounding board. I'll listen, maybe give you some ideas, but I'm not about to judge you. And, plus, you know more about me than I know about you. Fair trade, you know?_

That was, sadly, true. Stiles does know more about Oz than he does about Stiles. 

It's July 10th. Stiles sighs, and then responds. 

_Yeah. I guess._

_So. You vent and then a few hours later you delete said venting. And judging by the spelling, you're drunk when you do it._

_Yeah. My friend Heather's parties aren't exactly AA meetings. It doesn't happen that often._

_No, it just means you have something you really want to say. But you don't feel like you can to the people you know. You don't want to make them think any less of you._

Stiles grimaces, flexes his hands above the keyboard. It's not mocking, but it hits a little close all the same. 

_Not much they could think less of me,_ Stiles tries.

 _Then they don't deserve having you around,_ Oz replies. Stiles glares at the screen.

_They're good people. Great people._

_So are you. It's not hubris or anything to acknowledge you're not a terrible person, Stiles. It's part and parcel of humility to know your own strengths just as much as your weaknesses._

_You sound like my dad._

_Yikes._

Stiles laughs, and rolls his eyes. Sighs.

 _Look._ Stiles collects his thoughts, then continues, _My best friend is a werewolf, his ex is a hunter, no idea what's going on with Lydia, but it's something, Peter Hale is still kicking about somewhere probably being creepy and evil, Derek's being Derek, there's three new werewolves running around two of which last I saw were chained up in the Argent's basement and then ran away, so they're probably either caught or missing or dead, and that's not fun, because Erica and Boyd are cool people. I'm about 147 pounds of no trained fighting skill, fragile human bones and skin and I don't have the ability to punch through a brick wall or get shot and still stay standing. I'm weak, it's just a fact._

_You're not. I mean. Physically, right now, sure. But you don't have to be, it's not like humans can't work out and learn how to fight, it's not like hunters aren't human and base their entire livelihoods on being better at staying alive than supernatural creatures. I mean, come on, Stiles. You're no less capable than the people you know, you just haven't spent your entire life training to fight like, say, Allison. I mean, doesn't - surely your dad wants you to know how to defend yourself, at least? He's a Sheriff, isn't he?_

_I'm not eighteen yet._

_So? You weren't sixteen when you started driving around Beacon Hills on your own._

Alright, fine, he had him there.

_Besides, you don't have to be eighteen to visit a range._

Also true. 

It was tempting, in a way. To have... just, something. An ace up his sleeve, something unexpected. But he's got Melissa's old wooden baseball bat, for now, and that will just have to do.

_I've got a baseball bat. I'll be fine._

_That does not inspire me with confidence._

* * *

Still July. Still rusty, but Stiles can play ten songs all the way through, which is cool. Back to being good at skateboarding, but that's just one of those skills Stiles feels he won't ever actually _lose,_ exactly, more a skill that'll hide away until he uses it again, if he ever stops (like he did). And, obviously, there's looking for Supernatural shit on the internet. He's not found much. One little druid group on Facebook, which is nice enough and he had a good chat about the weird shit with the mountain ash multiplying itself through sheer force of will. And there was a group of - get this- _werecoyotes_ on LiveJournal complaining about something called 'a/b/o' and how it 'fetishizes incorrect assumptions about supernatural pack dynamics', which Stiles has decided not to touch with a ten-foot pole. It's the 20th, or thereabouts. School's back in session on the 14th of August. Junior year. It's not daunting, exactly, just a little weird. Stiles feels like - with everything that's happened - _he_ should be _20_ , already. It feels like what's gone down should have taken a much longer time to occur than it did. 

But it didn't. 

And maybe he's a little lonely. It's not like he blames Scott, really. Scott's trying to avoid the supernatural stuff while he heals, and that's fine. What works best for his mental health, and all that. It's just that Stiles isn't sure ignoring it is a good idea, this time. And he's probably not ignoring it, too. He's probably brooding, since Scott's taken a lot of Derek's other lessons to heart; there seems to be no reason for him not to take that one, too. Maybe he's not. Maybe Melissa's been talking to him about everything. They've got time to readjust to each other without the lies in the way now, after all. Stiles is glad for them both. He just... he can't tell his own dad. He _can't._

And that's final. And partially, the whole avoidance thing - or not really avoidance, just not making reasons to meet up - is on Stiles, too, though he was the one to send Scott a text about maybe hanging out, to which the teen in question declined, but, whatever; he had a shift at the vet's. Stiles'll just ask about some other time, later, it'll work out. It always does. And it kind of has to. Scott's not on particularly friendly terms with Derek right now, thank God, but it makes him isolated. Stiles is the only person who knows anything about the supernatural that'll talk to Scott, and... they're not talking. And it's not like Stiles is an expert. Hell, maybe Deaton's changed his tune. Maybe Derek's behaviour put him off enough that he's helping out Scott now, teaching him shit about his powers and all that. Potential. That Scott has. 

It doesn't matter. 

_If he's not talking to you, that's his choice. Shitty choice, but his choice._

_Yeah. Don't need to tell me that._

_All I'm saying is, he doesn't sound like the greatest friend._

Stiles' hands tense, before he types out his response, quick and annoyed.

_He's a great friend. I've said that before._

_It's not an insult when it's true._

_Actually, it's kind of more of one when it is. But it's not. True, that is. It's not true._

_Doth protest too much._

_Hah. Hah._

Stiles' jaw is tense, and it takes a few beats for Oz's message to come through:

_Sorry if I overstepped. I'm not great at this._

Stiles rolls his eyes.

_That makes two of us._

_Nah. You seem like you do pretty well._

Stiles rolls his eyes, again, harder.

_Not really, no._

_Suit yourself. You're going to see Captain America when it comes out, right?_

_Obviously, dude. Gotta wrangle Scotty into coming with me, but, yeah._

_Good luck with that._

* * *

_Hey. Are you on Xbox?_

_Yeah, why?_

_Scotty's busy. What's your user?_

* * *

Oz doesn't really sound like what Stiles thought he might, but then Stiles doesn't know what he thought Oz would sound like. Anyway, Halo on a Sunday afternoon has been a thing in Stiles' life for a long time, hanging out with his best friend on the weekend, but Scott's busy, and Stiles doesn't want to just drop the whole thing. And maybe it proves to him that Oz _exists,_ that he's a real human being, when he's got an Xbox account with Live and nearly a decade's worth of gaming history on the thing, in terms of achievements and shit. His Gamertag is _very_ early-xbox, _XxLastSw1ftM1ndxX_ , which is kind of hilarious. Stiles wasn't expecting it. 

But, once again; Stiles wasn't really sure what he _had_ been expecting.

And, plus, this was probably kind of stupid. He'd just been feeling... a little annoyed, maybe. At Scott cancelling, again. And Stiles hadn't wanted to confront the fact that he relies a little too much on Scott's presence, so he just... did the first thing he thought of. 

But anyway, it's not like he could take it back. It doesn't have to mean much. Stiles has friended plenty of people on Xbox that he's only done so because they were in a few multiplayer matches at the same time and it'd be easier to communicate that way, plus he tends to accept friend requests he gets, regardless. It really doesn't mean anything at all. Oz is an 'online acquaintance', at best, because he could be a serial killer and Stiles wouldn't have any clue. 

"So, what are we playing?" Oz asks, through the crackle of Stiles' shitty standard 360 headset. 

"Which do you have?"

"Up to ODST," Oz says. "So..."

"Yeah," Stiles says, booting up Halo 3. "3, then."

"Right," Oz agrees. This is kind of weird, Stiles thinks. Mostly because - well, there's just something strangely, vaguely familiar about the way Oz talks - or more accurately the way his voice sounds. But Stiles has known quite a lot of people in his life, and he's not entirely sure who Oz reminds him of. 

Co-Op Halo is a fun time, and a few hours pass by without him really realising. Oz has to leave to get dinner, and looking at the time Stiles can't see a reason not to do the same, so he does, and half an hour later he's watching _Star Wars: A New Hope_ in-synch with Oz, because he told Oz once that Scott hasn't seen either the OT or the Prequels, and Stiles honestly just wants to be able to rant at _someone_ who knows the franchise. 

"It's a pop-culture thing," Oz says. "I don't know anyone who hasn't seen them."

"Yeah, well," Stiles shrugs. 

"I mean," Oz continues, "Even just - if a friend of mine was really into something, I'd give it a go just to have more to talk about with them, right? That's why you play lacrosse, isn't it?"

"I play it by default," Stiles says, deflecting. "We don't even have a basketball team anymore, not that I'd be any good at that, but Lacrosse is the only sports team we have left. Well, aside from the swim team, but our swim team _sucks._ "

"Underfunded?" Oz asks.

"Heavily," Stiles says. " _The Arts_ are only slightly better off."

"Huh." Stiles hums back in acknowledgement. 

"Still," Oz says. "You play Lacrosse, he watches Star Wars. It's a fair trade."

"I do like the sport, you know," Stiles says. "Granted I'm no _good,_ but it's enjoyable enough when I'm not on the bench."

"At least there's that," Oz says. They shut up for a bit, to let the movie play.

* * *

Stiles opens the door.

"Oh, shit," He says. "I forgot."

Scott blinks at him, confused, eyebrows furrowing. "You forgot?" He asks.

"The time," Stiles waves a hand and stands aside, letting his best friend into the house, then closes the door behind him. Stiles scratches his chin. "Sunday Halo session, right?" 

"Yeah," Scott says, heading into the kitchen. "Sorry about last week," He apologises, puppy-dog eyes on full blast. "And the week before that," Stiles responds, "And the week before that..." He shakes his head and claps Scott on the shoulder, passing by him on the way to the fridge. "Don't worry about it, Scotty." Stiles gets them a couple sodas, and then they head upstairs. Stiles enters his room first, jogs over to his headset and shoves it on.

"Yo, so, Scotty's here," He tells Oz. "Totally blanked on the time."

"Right," Oz says, after a beat. "Well, I need to do some batting practise anyway, so. Later?"

"Later," Stiles agrees, discards the headset and notes Oz disbanding the party. 

"Who was that?" Scott asks. Stiles looks at him, reads his expression, and says in response, "Nobody important."

Stiles drops down onto the floor, against the side of his bed, picks up his controller and unplugs the headset. "Come on, we've got Reach to finish." 

"Yeah," Scott grins, dismissing Oz (not that he knew Oz was what he was dismissing, of course). He sits down, grabs the other controller, and they play a couple hour's worth of split-screen Co-Op ODST. 

Scott leaves around six, citing needing to take his mom some dinner since she's staying late at the hospital today, and that reminds Stiles to go check on his dad, who's been doing similarly for the past few weeks, but more-so than usual. He cajoles his dad into eating something healthy and tries to spy on what he's working on, but Stiles gets kicked out before he can really make heads or tails of it (dad took the food and kicked him out pretty much instantly, which is annoying, but what can you do?) so Stiles heads back home. 

He checks out the Druids on Facebook, braves the werecoyotes on LiveJournal for a couple minutes, and then drifts on back to his tumblr. 

_Yo_ Stiles sends. 

_Scott gone, then?_

_Yeah._

_My role as the back-up friend has resumed, then?_

_Don't be stupid._

_I'm not. The second the guy who's been ignoring you all summer deigns to show his face you ditch._

_He's bailed the last four times, when he's here I'm gonna make the most of it. He is my best friend, you know._

_Yeah. Sure acts like it, doesn't he?_

_Fuck off._

A few beats. 

_Sorry._

Stiles frowns. Waits. 

_I don't really have many friends myself. Haven't known anyone long enough to have a best friend. I guess I just don't know what it's like._

_Doesn't mean you gotta be a dick about it._

_I know that._

Stiles isn't very good at this sort of thing.

_So you said batting practise earlier? You do baseball, then?_

_Yeah. Since little leauge._

_Man, that's a throwback. I was in little league like a decade ago._

_With Scott?_

_Nah. He actually only showed up in between third and fourth grade, and our best-friendship started when I was like, thirteen? We'd been friends for a while, but, best friends, we were thirteen. Anyway, uh, Theo was the friend I had in Little League. Theodore Raeken. Disappeared after his sister died, whole tragic affair._

_Sounds horrible._

_It was. We hadn't spoken much for a few months before that, and there was no tearful goodbye or anything. I don't know what happened after that. Hell, he probably moved country. I think the Raekens just wanted a new start, after Tara._

_Seems logical._

_Yeah. Honestly, Beacon wasn't a fun place for the last decade. 2004 was a pretty bad year, especially._

_Your mom, right?_

_Yep. Hale House Fire, too, killed a shit-ton of people, turned out to be arson - Kate Argent, world's biggest bitch. Bunch of other stuff, I guess._

_Seems cursed._

_Probably._

Stiles sighs, flexes his fingers over the keyboard, considering, and then types:

_Sorry about earlier._

A pause.

_Thanks._

* * *

"Gotta skip on that one, Scotty, sorry."

"Oh. Uh, right. Next Friday?"

"Sure."

* * *

"Sorry about Friday."

"It's fine."

"Okay. Cool."

"See you later, Scott."

* * *

It's August 10th. 

Stiles doesn't check his phone for a message from Scott. Stiles, instead, checks for a message from Oz. He realises this and quickly rectifies it, shooting an affirmative for driving Scott to the tattoo parlour on the 13th, the day before school starts up again (Jesus, it's that time of year already, huh), but - it still leaves him feeling a little... unsettled. 

Anyway. Oz _had_ sent a message, to which he responds, but Stiles spends the rest of the day distracting himself from the fact that he might have made Oz into more of a friend than he'd meant to.

* * *

_Did you know werewolves can only get tattoos through the use of branding techniques?_

_Where did this come from?_

_Scott got a tattoo today. The whole process was kind of excessive. I had to pin him to a chair while Derek burned the ink into his arm._

_Ouch._

_No kidding. It's not easy to pin down a werewolf, you know. Especially one who's having their arm torched for a shitty tattoo._

_You don't like it?_

_I hate it. But it's symbolic or some shit. It's about Allison, kind of. But its just two black bands around the bicep, so it looks kind of eh._

_Oh?_

Stiles sends a picture of the kind of tattoo it is.

_Oh. Yeah, that's kind of lame._

_Kind of, yeah._

Stiles taps the k key, rhythmic, as he thinks of what to say. Oz gets there first.

_So. Junior year, tomorrow._

_Yeah._

_Hopefully there's less murder for you, this year._

_Oh, god. There's already been some, most likely. Found out some shit today._

_Well, shit._

_No kidding._

_You gonna tell me?_

Stiles taps the k key, again, more incessant, before responding.

 _Dunno how smart that would be,_ he types. He backspaces, and then sends _for all I know, you could be involved, so, no._

_Stiles._

_What? It's not paranoia. I don't even know what you look like._

_I don't know what you look like either._

Touché. 

_Or what your name is._

_For all I know, you could be lying about that. Who puts their full real name in their bio, anyway? Literally the most stupid thing you could do._

_Alright, you got me on that one._

_So it's not your name?_

_No._

_No it's not your name, or no it is your name?_

_Yes._

_Hah._

_It's not my name. But it's not like Stiles is yours, so you can't be angry at me for trying to protect my own privacy online._

_I'll have you know Stiles is derived from my name._

_So's my alias._

_Much more loosely, I bet?_

_Yeah._

_So. Clearly can't trust you in this._

_You can though. I can promise you, I don't have anything to do with this._

Stiles sighs. 

_That really doesn't inspire me with confidence,_ he says. 

_Fair._ A pause. Oz continues. 

_Twenty questions._

What?

 _What?_ Stiles sends.

_I'll ask you a question, you ask me a question. We have to tell the truth. How does that sound?_

Stiles hesitates. 

_Fine. Go on._

_Great. Did you enjoy this summer?_

_I guess. Been better if Scott wasn't as busy, but it wasn't horrible._

Stiles taps the spacebar, once, twice, thrice, then backspaces and sends the question _what about you?_

_Well, I met a friend online, so I'd say that was an improvement over last year. Like I've said, I don't have many friends._

_Depressing._

_Yeah. Biggest fear?_

_Blindness._

_Really?_

_Yeah. You?_

_Irrelevance._

_Huh. Alright._

A pause. _Something that you vaguely might want to say to someone, but you know you never will._

Stiles thinks about it. Then:

 _A heartbeat can tell you about more than just lies, and you don't know me well enough to interpret what I want correctly,_ he types, followed by _why are we doing this?_

_Interesting. And to ease your anxieties about this sort of thing._

Stiles' jaw tenses. 

_I don't trust you, and I'm not going to._

_Obviously, I wouldn't expect you to. Hypervigilance seems like a really shitty symptom for your Anxiety to manifest. Not that that's what it does, exactly, but still._

Stiles sighs.

_Yeah. It is._

There's a pause. 

_My name's Theo._

_Huh._

_Yeah. It's not a particularly uncommon name, but I figure - you knew someone called that. So I wasn't sure you'd believe me, on that one._

_Stiles is from Stilinski. It's a family thing._

_You don't like your first name?_

_Can't pronounce it. I don't speak any polish._

_Unfortunate._

_No kidding. Mie-chi-swaf is how they spell it out, but it never sounds right coming from me. Mom was the last person who could say it right. You'd think my dad could pronounce the name he chose for his son, but, think again._

_Well that's a bit dumb._

_Sort of._

_Question?_

_Right. I don't know. Hardest decision?_

_Good one. I saw a murder when I was ten. I didn't really know what was happening, and I didn't have a phone or anything, so I couldn't call the cops._

_Jesus._

_Yeah. So. I just... let it go._

_Sounds traumatic._

_To an extent. You? Your hardest decision?_

_Christ. I've had a few. I guess lately... it ties._

_It ties?_

_Tell my dad, or don't. And... say yes, or no._

_Vague._

_My dad doesn't know. About the supernatural. And It's hard as hell to decide whether or not he's better off knowing or ignorant. Telling him could get him killed. But not telling him could be worse in the long run._

_Right. That is a hard choice._

_Yeah._

_The other one?_

_Congrats, you're the first to hear about this, and also probably the last._

_It's an honour._

_It should be. I got offered the werewolf bite, once. By a complete and total asshole, but I got offered it._

_And you said no?_

_Yeah. Its what I said earlier._

_About your heartbeat not just giving evidence of lying?_

_Yeah. My heartbeat's unreliable on the best of days, anyway, a combination of Anxiety and ADHD and a bunch of other shit, but when being offered werewolfitude by a mass murderer it's even less so._

_Understandable._

_Exactly. So_

Stiles hesitates, then thinks - fuck it.

_He said I was lying to myself. He said my heartbeat did the telltale thing over the words 'I don't want', when I declined the bite on account of not wanting to be like him, the serial killing mass murderer._

_Reasonable_

_No kidding. I don't want to be like him, that's true. I don't even want to be a werewolf, that's also true._

_So what was it?_

Stiles sighs. 

_I'd be scared of myself if I was._

_Ah. Power._

_Yeah._

_I think you'd handle it a lot better than you think. Really, I'm sure of it._

_You're wrong._

Stiles logs off, after that. 

(And that's how summer went.)

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> posting the 4 fully written chapters at once because i'm bad at backlogs. Anyway, I hope you like this?


	2. Fall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pretend i didn't mess up on the timeline for Scott's tattoo, okay? Thank you.

Junior year starts off with a _bang,_ and Stiles is thrown right back into the thick of it. The main thing that comes of this is that Stiles spends more time with Scott again, falling back into old routines and old habits. 

Heather dies, two days after Junior Year starts. It leaves a hollow feeling in his gut. He's been seeing her all summer, catching her eye across a room full of people, reminiscing about the time you could have called them best friends, and Stiles liked her, he did. Was surprised she'd liked him, but that didn't change anything.

God. If only they hadn't gone to the basement, if he hadn't left her alone...

_It's not your fault._

_Fucking course it is._

_It's not. Whoever took her - it's their fault._

_Yeah. Obviously. Doesn't mean I shouldn't have done something._

_Like what? Predicted the future? You can't save everyone, Stiles. You'll run yourself ragged trying. Best thing you can do? Find the person who did it so it doesn't happen again. Don't beat yourself up over something you can't change._

_There's nothing. No evidence, no witnesses, nothing. Nobody to find. It's like she vanished in thin air._

_The police can't find anything because they don't know what we do. Ask those Druids you found on facebook, maybe there's something you can do to track who took her._

_Maybe._

* * *

_God, Peter Hale sucks._

_He's still around?_

_I had to plan a bank heist with him. The Alpha Pack had Boyd and Cora trapped in a vault. As always, I was left behind with creeper Hale while the others did the rescuing._

_What's the point of that?_

_Well, if I hadn't we might not have gotten the realisation that the vault was made out of moonstone or something idk anyway the point is, if I hadn't people might have died, so._

_I guess. You really should learn how to fight. Properly, I mean, so they don't have an excuse to leave you behind, though._

_Yeah. I guess._

* * *

_VIRGINS_

_hello, Stiles._

_Yeah hi it's virgins._

_What's virgins?_

_Heather. Emily. Guy at the pool. They were all virgins. And they all died in the same ways. So it's virgin sacrifices, most likely. The Druids said that might be the signs of a Darach, if there's a Nemeton in the area._

_I'm guessing there's a very big very old Nemeton in the area?_

_Better. It got chopped down in the 40s; only the stump is left._

_So it's an old,_ _angry Nemeton. Got ya._

_Yep._

_So if it's virgins - anyone you know in danger?_

_Yes. Me._

_Oh._

_If Heather had not been taken that night, then neither of us would be, but that's just my luck, isn't it. Fuck._

_How are you holding up?_

_My childhood friend turned adolescent acquaintance turned teenage could-have-been-something being murdered by a Darach for power the very night that could-have-been-something was nearly realised into actually-something? Eh. I'm fine. What do you think, dumbass?_

_I'm just asking._

_No I know. I'm just on edge._

_No kidding._

_Erica's dead._

_Sorry to hear that._

_Yeah. She was cool._

Stiles sighs, runs a hand through his hair. It's kind of weird that he can do that now - that it's long enough. The buzzcut was easier to maintain. But, you know. Trying something new. 

* * *

_SAT prep when your best friend is bleeding out in the seat next to you? Not fun._

_He's not healing?_

_They're from an alpha, apparently that makes them last longer._

_Sometimes. It can be a psychological thing though, too._

_Derek's dead._

_That'd do it._

_So, you're saying he's not healing himself because he's sad?_

_Basically._

Stiles looks up at Scott, who's staring listlessly out the window. 

"Yo, Scotty. Hey, yo, Scotty? Still with me?"

* * *

_That was an awful experience._

_What?_

_Wolfsbane. Lydia saw the Darach._

_Ah._

_Lots of hallucinations and werewolves trying to kill themselves. I don't recommend trying to wrestle a chainsaw away from an alpha werewolf, I'm lucky to not be dead. Figures he remembers it wrong, though, because how the fuck could I have saved him? Bah._

_What happened?_

_Lots of things. Boyd tried to drown himself, weigh himself down with a safe in the bathtub. Used a flare to snap him out of it. Ethan tried to gut himself with a chainsaw, and I was this close to having my face sawed in half, but I did get it away from him. I guess the wolfsbane made him weaker? And_

Stiles sighs.

_Scott poured gasoline on himself, which made the whole 'fire snaps them out of it' thing a lot more dangerous._

_How'd you manage to fix that?_

_In the biggest simplification of the situation I can manage, I talked him out of it._

_A real hero, then._

_Fuck off. It wasn't just me, Lydia and Allison did most of the work._

_But Scott only listened to you, right?_

_He was delirious, frankly, and terrifyingly so. I don't want to talk about it._

_That's alright. What do do you wanna do?_

_Let's just play some Halo._

* * *

_Boyd is dead._

_Fuck._

_Yeah._

_Derek's pulled a disappearing act, like the complete and utter fuckwit he is._

_So it's all going... pretty bad?_

_A bit more than pretty bad, Theo. Very bad. Awful, in fact._

* * *

_Stiles?_

* * *

September 19th. 

_I died._

_Disappeared, actually. What the fuck, Stiles?_

_A lot happened. Like, I died. 16 hours. My dad was taken by the Darach, as were Chris and Melissa, we didn't have a choice. It's just been... I've just been gathering my shit together since._

Stiles blinked at a sequence of numbers Theo sent.

_What?_

_Call me._

* * *

* * *

October 9th. Four in the morning. 

_Fuck it. Distract me._

* * *

_Opened a door. A darkness around your heart. Fucking cryptic shit, what the fuck did we do_

_Stiles?_

_Saw Deaton about the weird shit that's going on. I'm going fucking crazy._

_In what way?_

_Can't tell when I'm sleeping until I check. Entire fucking classroom signing shit at me. Then I find out I wasn't actually asleep, and I'm just writing wake up over and over again on a piece of paper while Scott gives me fucking concerned puppy-dog eyes all lesson_

_That's not good._

_No. It's terrible._

* * *

_Well, kitsunes are a thing. And we're being attacked by Japanese demons - Oni - and all load of other bullshit is happening. If I don't message for a while, that's why._

_Alright. Good luck._

* * *

Fuck.

_Fuck, I really am going crazy._

_Call me._

Stiles does.

"I did it," Stiles says, finds himself saying, and he didn't mean to, but he can't - he can't just... say this. To anyone. He can't tell _Scott,_ he can't. 

Kira. God, Kira, what the fuck did Kira ever do to deserve that shit? 

"What did you do?" Theo asks, calmly. Always fucking calm. 

"I opened the chemical storage closet and wrote the message to Barrow on the blackboard. The message to kill Kira. Why the fuck did I do that? I don't remember doing it - I -"

"Do you think," Theo starts, slow, "When Deaton said - you 'opened a door' - do you think something... got in?"

"Oh my god, that's horrifying," Stiles says, though there's a strange relief that it might not actually be _him_ that wrote the message, it's overwhelmed by the idea that he's sharing a body with something malevolent. Something evil. 

"I know," Theo says. "But - possession is a... thing. It's a possibility."

"Right." Stiles sighs. "I'll ask Deaton."

* * *

Theo calls Stiles' number; the phone doesn't connect.

(It's November, now. Isn't it?)

* * *


	3. Winter.

After it all, Stiles has... sort of forgotten about Theo. He's got a new phone, with a new number. All his accounts were deleted when he went to check, so he had to make new ones. And 'Oswald's' account is gone, so Stiles can't get to him through that. His number doesn't connect, either. 

So Stiles drops it. For five days, which is really a record. And then, on that Sunday, he remembers the Xbox account. 

Stiles checks. And it still exists. He sends Theo a message. Just a simple greeting, quick and easy. 

_Hey._

He waits. 

He gets a reply on Tuesday:

_Hey._

* * *

"So, who is it?" Malia asks, head tilted. She started school on Monday. Stiles is helping her with algebra. Math is not her strong suit. 

"Theo," He says. "Just someone I met online." It's Tuesday. Stiles sends back a message to Theo's responding _Hey._ It's also simple. _Turns out I was possessed._

"So he knows?" She asks.

"Yep." Stiles looks back at her. They haven't - since Eichen. They haven't done anything. Stiles can't read her very well, he'll admit; he's not sure if she wants to or not. If it was just a one time thing. And if it was, he's not got an issue with that. Neither of them are really in a good place for a relationship, if he's honest. And besides; Stiles can always do with more friends. Plus, Malia doesn't need the expectations of romance when she doesn't even know what friendship _is,_ regardless. 

"Okay," She nods. That's that. Malia's a lot... easier than most. She accepts things without much argument. Lydia would question. Scott would probably be a little concerned. But Malia just - _okay._ She just says okay. 

Maybe it's why Stiles can talk to her, about everything. More than he can talk to Scott, or to Lydia, or to his Dad. Maybe she sees something similar in him, because it's _Stiles_ she comes to, not one of the others. Outside of Stiles, she gets on best with Kira, he's pretty sure, but she talks to Lydia the most, because Lydia's helping her with school. Scott's helping her with biology, while Lydia does the math that Stiles doesn't, and the chemistry and the English and a whole host of other things. Stiles does the rest. It kind of works. It kind of doesn't. None of them are teachers, after all, and Malia barely has the base of kindergarten under her belt. They're basically starting from scratch, which honestly - kind of proves how smart she is. Most people would be more than swamped under these kinds of stresses, but Malia just soldiers on, and she understands more than a lot of other people in her situation would do. 

Getting her to think in terms of _people and friends_ and not _predator versus_ _prey_ is kind of difficult. But it's getting there. There's progress. 

Theo sends Stiles a message.

_I know. He talked to me._

Stiles' blood runs cold. 

_What did it say_

_Nothing really. It was... a little strange._

Stiles' eyebrows furrow.

_He said I wouldn't want to offend him._

_No, that wouldn't have been a good idea. It's why it was attacking us. We were tangentially related to someone who did, and it wanted to have some fun. The whole thing was a game, to it._

_What happened?_

_Allison's dead._

There's a pause, like Theo's not sure what to say.

_There's nothing I can say to make it better, but for what it's worth, I'm sorry that happened._

_Yeah, well._

_What are you doing now?_

_Teaching Malia algebra._

_Malia?_

_Malia Tate. Not sure if I told you about her._

"Can I?" Malia gestures. 

_She wants to say hi._

_Party up, then._

Theo starts a party, invites Stiles, and Stiles plugs in the headset. "Yo," Stiles says, headset held in his hand, sharing it with Malia. "Hi," Malia says. 

"Hello," Theo replies. "I'm Theo."

"Malia," Malia says. "Are you a werewolf?"

"Werecoyote, actually." He admits. 

"Oh." Malia straightens. "I'm a werecoyote."

"Cool," Theo says. Stiles can hear a smile in the tone of his voice. "Great. So you're doing algebra?"

"Ugh. Yes." Malia rolls her eyes. Stiles smiles. "It's pointless, but yes."

"I wouldn't say that," Theo says, but changes the subject. "So... I guess I should leave you to it?"

"Don't," Malia says, quickly. "I'm bored."

"Yeah," Stiles says, sighing slightly. "What have you been up to?"

"Other than _not_ worrying about whether or not you'd gone and died on me?" There's a short pause, like he took the time to think or shrug or shake his head. "The usual."

"You deleted your blog," Stiles comments.

"Yeah," Theo sighs. "I got tired of it. But as you can hear, I'm still around."

"Yeah," Stiles echoes. "That's fair."

"So what do you do on this thing anyway?" Malia asks, inspecting the Xbox 360. 

"Video games," Stiles says. 

Malia's eyebrows furrow. "Right," She says, clearly trying to sift through her recollections for this sort of thing. "I don't think I played many of those."

"Good time for new things," Theo says. "Boot up Halo?"

Malia looks curious, intrigued, so Stiles does just that.

* * *

Malia laughs at Stiles' joke, and Stiles can hear Theo's laughter through the crackle of his headset. 

The doorbell rings; Stiles can't hear it, but Malia perks up. She tilts her head, listens to the heartbeat, then wanders over to the window and opens it, to try and catch the person's scent.

"Scott's here," She says, neutrally. Stiles glances over to her. 

"Right," He says, taking off his headset and wandering downstairs. 

Theo sighs, quietly. Stiles might not have picked up on it. Malia thinks he doesn't much like Scott. 

"You don't like Scott, do you?" She asks. 

Theo laughs, lightly. "Blunt," He says. And then, more subdued, "I can't make a judgement. I don't know him, really. Just what Stiles has said about him."

"But you don't like him," Malia presses. 

"Not from what I've heard," Theo allows. 

Stiles returns to the room with Scott in tow. Theo disconnects the call. 

"Was it him again?" Scott asks, glancing at the half-eaten lunch (it's about one o'clock) and then turning curious eyes onto Stiles. 

"Yeah, it was him again."

"Are you sure it's actually Theo?" Scott has a vaguely concerned look on his face. It makes Malia's skin itch.

"Yes, I'm sure," Stiles says. "The - when I was lucid," He sighs. "I checked."

Scott's expression turns more concerned, with a tinge of something vaguely uncomfortable. "That makes sense."

"So," Stiles says, drops down. 

"Well, it's Sunday," Scott says, and Stiles blinks at him. "Oh my god," He says, "I didn't even - come on. Let's play some Halo."

Malia likes the games. Shooting aliens is fun enough.

* * *

"We're going to Mexico."

"That seems like a fun Christmas." 

Stiles shakes his head. He can hear the half-smirk in Theo's voice. "Funny," Stiles says. "It's where Derek is."

"I see," Theo turns serious. "Are you sure this is a good idea?"

"It's a horrible idea," Stiles says. "But we don't have a choice."

* * *

"Derek was a teenager for two days."

"Fun."

"Not really. Also, the Hales were rich."

"Of course they were."

"Yeah, that was the least surprising thing that happened over the last couple days."

"So how was Mexico?"

"Terrifying, but that was probably just the people I met. I'm sure it's fine otherwise."

"That's likely."

* * *

Sunday, January 1st. Scott doesn't come over; neither Stiles nor Malia notice, and Theo doesn't bring it up.

* * *

"So, wendigos do exist."

"I told you that."

"Yeah, but, I know it for a fact now. And someone called The Mute killed an entire family of them. This Deadpool thing? Definitely going to get out of hand. Be glad 'Theodore Raeken' isn't written on there."

"I am. Endlessly. I'm guessing you're not either?"

"I'm not supernatural."

"Yeah, but you were possessed. So we know the info is legitimate, not outdated or anything."

"True."

* * *

"It's funny."

"What?"

Malia looks at Stiles, head tilted. "I..." He sighs. "What I told you. Last night?"

Malia nods her head, slowly. 

"I couldn't tell Scott that, or my dad, or Lydia or - anyone." he takes a breath. "I just..."

"You've known them for longer." She looks at him. "And it's not that you trust them less," She continues, "Because you don't. But you smell uncomfortable when some topics come up around them. Anxious. Like you said in Eichen House - guilt makes you feel nervous." Malia pauses, collecting her assessment. "So you feel guilty. About remembering it, about remembering liking it. So you can't tell them, because they were involved. I wasn't, really." She tilts her head, again. "You could tell me. You could tell Theo, probably. And it's not to do with trust. It's to do with judgement, right?"

"You're scarily perceptive, sometimes," Stiles says.

"So are you," Malia says. "I'm just trying to keep up. I think you should talk to Theo. About the fact that you know he's really _that_ Theo."

Stiles sighs. He should. That much is true. 

"Yeah," He allows. "I should."

Malia's eyes are piercing. She kissed him in Mexico, but that didn't start anything. And he helped her find her anchor last night, but that's not necessarily romantic. If Stiles admits something, it's that he feels closer to Malia than anyone else, right now, but not - not exactly like _that._ They both need something a bit more... solid and a lot more stable and permanent than a romantic entanglement. Stiles saw how it went with Scott and Allison, Lydia and Jackson (gross, but valid as an example), heard how it went with Derek and Page, knew how it didn't go with himself and Heather. These things get people killed. And if not, then it ends horribly. Stiles has never known something romantic to last. 

Maybe it's a bit difficult to understand. Stiles is pretty sure Scott's got the wrong idea. After all, Malia tends to sleep in Stiles' bed, and sometimes her own poor sleep makes her scratch up his back, which she's always horribly sorry about in the morning, but Stiles doesn't exactly mind; so long as one of them gets a good night's sleep, he's happy. But it is platonic, what they've got. And it matters. 

"Go on then," Malia says. And Stiles can't find a reason to put it off, so he calls Theo.

* * *

"You ready for the game coming up?" Theo asks.

"Against Devenford?" 

"Devenford Prep?" Theo inquires, for clarification, and Stiles hums a confirmation. "Yeah," Theo says.

"Nope," Stiles shakes his head. "I've been practising with Malia in goal, because - you know, werecoyote, if I can score against that I can score against some random human, right? But I've not net one yet, so."

"You'll get there," Theo says. 

"Let's face it, my game-saving goal was a fluke," Stiles says. "It's pointless."

"Pick that up from Malia, did you?" Theo says. "You'll be fine."

"Yeah yeah," Stiles grumbles. "How's baseball?"

"Fine as always," Theo says. "It's an extracurricular. How's drums?"

"God, I haven't touched them in months at this point," Stiles says. "Deadpool is more important right now."

"But you've got free time," Theo says. "And you enjoy it, don't you?"

"Yeah," Stiles says, looking at his clear marker board taking up most of the room. "But there's no space. So."

"There's space," Malia says. "You play the drums?"

Stiles sighs. "Yeah," He says. 

"Malia's here?" Theo asks. 

"She's always here," Stiles says, wryly, and puts the phone on speaker. 

"Hi," Malia says.

"Hey, Malia," Theo says. "Stiles plays the drums. And skateboards."

"Huh." Malia looks at Stiles, considering, and her gaze is weighty but not uncomfortable. "I didn't know."

"Time of crisis," Stiles says, lightly. "Haven't had time."

"Then we'll make time," Malia decides. "I don't have any hobbies, or whatever. And I should, right? That's a thing people do."

"You play Halo with us," Theo chimes in. "Video Games. Those count as a hobby."

"But other than that," Malia says. "What do I have?"

A great big wad of nothing. Stiles grimaces, and she inclines her head. "See? So. I need to find out what there is. So I can find out what I like."

"Can't believe you haven't done that already," Theo says, bemused.

"Time of crisis," Stiles reminds him. 

"Well, we're just waiting right now," Malia says, stubbornly, "So we're doing something. Something fun."

"Have you ever been ice skating?" Stiles asks her, out of the blue.

"No." Malia blinks at him. "There's a rink," Stiles says, and she smiles.

"There you go then," Theo says. "Have fun, you two." And the call disconnects.

* * *

Malia enjoys ice-skating, once she gets the hang of it. Rock climbing. She accompanies him to the skate park, and glares at the sketchier looking people. She likes listening to the drums when he plays them for practice, and oftentimes that's during a chill Saturday phone call with Theo, who's in Malia's contact list too, now. 

Stiles is pretty sure when Theo said he didn't have many friends, he really meant that he had about a sum total of _one._ That one being Stiles, which was very sad. At least now he's got two. But he always seems to have very empty weekends, and frankly just a very empty life. Most days, when either of them calls him, regardless of the time of day, he picks up. Though, equally often, he can fall off the radar for a few days, unable to be reached in any way, shape, or form. It's strange.

And here they are now. 

"Tell him he's learning how to fight." Malia says. There's a pause.

"Hello to you too," Theo says. "Stiles, you're learning how to fight."

Stiles groans in annoyance. "What happened?" Theo says. "He got captured in Eichen House, by Brunski," Malia scowls. "I never liked him."

"That's the one that dosed you, isn't he?" "He was," Stiles agrees. "He's dead."

"Can't say I'm sorry about that," Theo says, simply. "You alright?"

"Other than wishing I'd have gotten a hit in before he kicked it? Yeah," Stiles says, truthful, though a low simmering sort of anger is still present. "Dick was messing with Lydia. She's the one who should be worried about. Turns out Meredith was the one behind the Deadpool the whole time. A real plot twist that. Stupid. A stupid plot twist. But I can say I wasn't expecting it."

"The banshee," Theo says, then pauses, and continues, "It makes sense, in a... twisted sort of way."

"And you're learning how to fight," Malia repeats, staring Stiles down. "At _least_ how to shoot."

"I'm not saying no," Stiles acquiesces, and Malia nods, short. "Good." 

"Finally," Theo says. "I've been trying to get you to do that for months."

"Oh," Malia says. "Also, I'm a Hale. And Stiles nearly got shot. Before being taken by Brunski. A few days before."

"Your lives, seriously," Theo says, tone wry. 

* * *

"Eichen House, seriously?"

"There's nowhere else he can go," Stiles says. 

"Yeah," Malia agrees. "And we know they can hold him."

"They couldn't hold either of you."

Stiles shares a glance with Malia. They know that. But it's different. 

"He's sharing a room with Dr. Valack."

"Oh."

There's a pause.

"... I'm going to visit, anyway." Malia says, simply. "I want to know... what he knows. If he knows anything."

"About your mother?"

"Yeah," Malia says. "And we need to make sure he doesn't go more insane," Stiles says. "So... we'll keep an eye on him."

"Good idea," Theo says. "So... what now?"

"Nothing. I guess." Stiles looks at Malia, who shrugs. "School," She says, with distaste. 

"Got spring break to look forward to," Theo says. 

"Yeah," Stiles agrees. "That we do."

"Do you have Skype?" Malia asks.

* * *


	4. Spring.

After February, everything calms down. That Spring is entirely, completely uneventful. 

It's weird. 

But there are other things. Kira hangs out with them more often, her relationship with Scott tentative and cautious. The last time Scott was with someone, it kind of went up in flames, so Stiles gets it. She and Malia get along really well, and Stiles likes her, he does; she's funny, and she finds the same kind of things fun as he does, unexpectedly. She's a good friend to have, and not for the last time, he feels guilty about... the whole thing. With the Nogitsune, and how Stiles treated her at that time. It's not _exactly_ his fault, but he remembers all of it, these days, like cutting the link to the nogitsune gave him back access to all the memories it blocked to keep itself hidden.

He's apologised a few times, a couple of them when drunk; Kira takes it the same way each time, even when she's drunk herself. _It's okay,_ she's said; _It was the nogitsune. Even if you remember it, I know it wasn't you._

Stiles is more candid when he's drunk; so, now... well, he'd told Scott he remembered trying to kill him, and he'd told Malia more than that, and he's told Kira about the same amount, and Lydia's probably guessed by this point, and then there's Theo, so... five people. Five people know he remembers. Two (maybe three, _perhaps_ four) know it's more than that.

Then there's Parrish, who knows, alongside his dad. It helps with weird cases; Stiles' dad isn't utterly overworking himself by trying to figure out cold cases all on his lonesome. Also, Parrish asked for a copy of the bestiary, which gains him points in Stiles' view. Research. It's a good thing. 

Trying to figure out what Parrish is. Is a _thing._ It's taking up a lot of Parrish's time, and some of Lydia's. Speaking of Lydia - she's been knuckling down; a field medal can't win itself, and she can't win one if she fails at graduating from high school, or at least, it'll be harder. At least, that's what Stiles can gather from her behaviour when he sees her; she's mostly hanging around Scott and Malia and Kira and Parrish, which you'd think would mean Stiles would see a lot of her, but she's mostly around them when they're not around Stiles, so it's actually the opposite. 

It's fine, and that's entirely true. Lydia's a good friend, of course, but Stiles is long over desperately vying for her attention. His not-super-great obsession is long over, and good riddance for that. 

Malia enters through the window. It's May 4th. It's obvious what that means: Star Wars marathon. It's not the first time Malia will have seen Star Wars, because they've had months to do that, but it's the first marathon. Kira's coming. Scott has a shift at Deaton's, and will probably be around for dinner, so he might catch the last two. Lydia's busy with... something. Probably with Parrish. And Theo's joining in through a Skype call, at least until dinner, maybe a bit longer, depending on when his folks get home. 

Theo likes Kira well enough, and vice versa, which is nice. 

* * *

Things shift, once more, near the end of March, leading into April. Malia stays over at Kira's near as much as she stays over at Stiles'; it leaves his bed empty half the time, because without someone else there to regulate it Stiles' sleep schedule ends up all over the place. And if he has nightmares he falls back onto recently-developed old habits; he messages Theo, who's nine times out of ten available to distract Stiles from his own thoughts. 

Stiles opens the door, March 20th, to Kira standing awkwardly on his doorstep, alone. Stiles raises his eyebrows at her. "Hey, Kira," He says, and lets her in. She's wringing her hands. 

"So," She says, "I -" Kira clears her throat. "I have something to ask?"

Stiles enters the kitchen. She follows. He starts making his lunch. "Go on then," He says. Kira's lips twist, her eyes a little over-wide. "I don't want to date Scott," She says. "And not - not because I don't like him! I do. He's great. It's just... I don't think he's ready." She winces. "It's been... only a few months. People take _time_ to grieve. Years. And that's fine that's good it's _healthy,_ but I'm just... not sure he's ready?" Kira sits down, gingerly, at the table. "And I don't want to - to be cruel about it. But I also..." She hesitates. "I also like... someone else." She pauses. "Someone I _know_ is ready."

Stiles is not a relationship counsellor. 

"Right?" He says, finishing up his sandwich. "So..."

"I'm sorry," Kira says, quickly, "This is - just dumping it on you -"

"It's fine, really," Stiles says, sitting down at the table. "Who do you like?"

"Malia," She rushes out. "I like - I like Malia." She winces. "God, this was a terrible idea, you're - I mean, she practically lives here and she kissed you and god, I'm so sorry-"

"No," Stiles laughs, "No, Kira. It's fine. We're not - we're not together."

Kira lets out a breath. "Okay, that's - yeah, that's good to hear." 

"When'd this happen?" Stiles asks, genuinely curious.

"In Mexico," Kira says, embarrassed. 

"Cool," Stiles says. She smiles back at him, tentative. "Awesome," Stiles continues. "But I really - I've never had an actual relationship," He says, "So - I mean, I don't know."

"I just... you know Scott, if not relationships," Kira tucks some hair behind her ear. "And I was wondering what... you think I should say?"

"Be gentle about it," Stiles says. "But firm. He held a torch for Ally after she broke up with him because of... destiny or something, and that kept flaring right through her romance with Isaac. So... It can't be tentative. But he's a little - when it comes to love. So be nice about it?" Stiles winces. "I'm really no good at this."

"Thank you," Kira says, gratefully. "Do you want a sandwich?" Stiles asks. Kira smiles. "Sure," She says, and Stiles makes her one.

* * *

So Malia and Kira start dating. This doesn't make things as awkward between them and Scott as Stiles might have worried about. They all hang out like good friends, still. Lydia leads Scott around the ice rink, as he's still terrible. Stiles laughs at him when he falls on his ass, again. Lydia gently spins him around, a slow, careful dance on the ice. Malia and Kira skate, arm in arm. Stiles does lazy circles.

It's nice. 

Stiles tells Theo this.

"It sounds it," Theo says. There's something in his eyes. Theo doesn't really _like_ to Skype too often, but he does it anyway, whenever Stiles calls. Stiles thinks Theo doesn't like being able to be read, not that he's very readable, but rather that he doesn't like the chance that someone _could._

Spring consists of - School. Helping Malia with various subjects. Getting better at the drums, at skateboarding. Going with his friends to various places in town; ice rink, bowling alley, rock climbing. Learning things Malia was determined he'd learn; self-defence, going to the gun range. She made absolutely certain he knew how to swing his baseball bat. It was a little concerning to find out he should not, under any circumstances, have been able to shatter his previous one over the twins' head, but, oh well. Stiles isn't going to think about it. Spring also consists of - video games on Sundays, calls of various kinds with Theo. 

It's nice. 

Stiles tells Theo this.

* * *

April passes by with nothing, once more. They'll be seniors in September. Lydia's already looking at College applications; she wants MIT, and she wants to make triple-y certain she'll get in. Scott's putting in more hours at the Vet's, and he's working extra-hard on biology; it's looking like he'll get into AP, next year. He's really trying for the veterinarian life path, and that's great. Stiles isn't the only one unsure as of yet what they want to do; Malia doesn't know, doesn't much care, and conversely Kira doesn't know and cares a whole lot.

Stiles is somewhere in the middle of the two. 

"You could go into Law Enforcement," Theo offers, with vague distaste. 

"Not much point," Stiles says. "If it weren't for my dad I'd have a pretty lengthy criminal record."

"For very mild things," Theo says, grinning. "Yep. Kidnapping, such a minor charge," Stiles says. "Obstruction of Justice might be the one to blacklist me from a career in that field, though."

"But you're clean," Theo says. "Squeaky," Stiles nods. "So does it matter?" Theo tilts his head, smiling still. 

"Not really," Stiles sighs, leaning back in his chair. "I guess it's the principle of the thing. But I've got time to figure it out. You?"

"Actually, this kind of fits with something I wanted to tell you," Theo smiles. "We're packing up - moving again. Moving _back,_ actually." 

"What?" Stiles says, frowning, and Theo waits. "You mean - back? As in, back _here?"_

"Yeah," Theo nods. "I'll be doing my senior year at Beacon Hills High School."

"That's suicidal of you," Stiles says, but he's grinning. "Oh, you are going to _hate_ it here."

"I doubt that," Theo says, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Actually - I think it's going to be great for me."

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> hope you enjoyed! Thoughts?


End file.
